The Story of Molly Hooper
by RoseWhispers6
Summary: Molly Hooper has a secret, she is very good at keeping it. No one ever suspects. And it's odd to say, but it really is because she liked to bake so much.
1. Chapter 1 - Molly's Biscuit Adventures

The Story of Molly Hooper

Chapter One

Molly's Biscuit Adventures

Molly Hooper enjoyed baking, that's what started it. To her baking was relaxing. She would make biscuits and scones. She would create pies and breads. She would fill pastries and frost fairy cakes. But there is only so much one person could truly eat. When Molly started at university she would bring boxes of treats to study groups or outings. When she had reached enough schooling to work in labs, Molly began bringing boxes of cakes for the office.

She did think, once upon a time, that bringing these treats as an offering would help her get to know people. That the freshly baked pastries would mask her shyness and smooth the rough edges of her awkwardness while enticing people to come and socialize with her. Molly didn't think that anymore.

When she started at St. Bart's, Molly decided to use her baking to have "Biscuit Adventures," as she called them. Molly did wonder if she should call them that, since she didn't always bring biscuits, but thought that since no one else would ever know then it didn't really matter.

She usually took the same route every time, but it was still an adventure to her. Every couple of weeks Molly would bake to her heart's content, letting the calming effect of one of her favorite hobbies wash over her. She would fill boxes big enough to fit three or four treats in, but small enough that they were easy to carry. Then Molly would load up large tote bags with a hundred or so treat boxes before lumbering on to the tube towards St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Having left at least an hour before her shift started, she would be able to get off at a station quite a bit before the hospital to start her adventure.

Winding her way along the main streets and into the back alleys, Molly would pass out the little cardboard boxes to the homeless. The old hope that her baked goods would start conversations still held to her as she passed them out. Molly learned people's names and stories as she made the journey closer and closer to work.

All out of boxes she would sit a bit on a bench or in the coffee shop near the hospital to pull out her sketch pad. Molly would draw the people and things she had encountered during that part of her adventure. Sketching out scenes was nearly as relaxing as baking, but it also felt like a puzzle or a game. She had to remember their names, what they wore, what color their eyes and clothes were. Filling in more details like the things that they carried with them or what was in the background while she talked to them felt more like a crossword puzzle made from art.

On a chilly day in late January, Molly was inside sketching out Katie. Katie was an older woman she had met several times. The lines around her eyes fascinated the artist and the puzzle solver within her. That day, though, Molly was focused on the background as there had been some interesting graffiti. Perhaps she would color this one when she got home.

The room had gone strangely quiet, Molly looked up. Everyone was staring at the television. The news was reporting no survivors at the British Embassy in Tbilisi. Molly didn't know anyone in Tbilisi, but she did know that people working in such places were trying to help the greater good. They counted.

Molly finished with her coffee and packed away her things. She thought about what she would bring the next time she went on a "Biscuit Adventure." For a moment Molly thought about how this was a highlight for her. The combining of her two favorite hobbies into a short adventure. It made Molly a little sad that nothing interesting ever happened to her, but she had accepted that was the way things would always be for her. Molly Hooper, specialist registrar for St. Bartholomew's Hospital, didn't have anything interesting happen to her ever. She didn't count and never would.

Boy won't she be surprised?

* * *

***The characters in this story were influenced by Amyth3dler on Ao3 thanks to the story "Undertow," which is completely different but had wonderful characters. Used with permission.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Very Poor Prank

The Story of Molly Hooper

Chapter Two

A Very Poor Prank

Molly Hooper had been working on her specialist programme for two years now at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Taking three years off to help her dad after sitting her A levels meant Molly was a bit behind everyone else, but it had been worth it. There were just over three years left before she would be Dr. Molly Hooper MBBS, MRCP, FRCPath and she knew he would be proud of all her hard work.

Molly was thinking about that with a small smile tugging at her lips as she walked into the morgue that early morning in February. Then she nearly tripped over a dead body. She was more than a little startled. It wasn't like Molly hadn't seen dead bodies before, of course she had! But she didn't normally find them on the floor just inside the door. Molly bent lower, trying to examine the body and determine why and how this man had gotten there.

He was fairly young, but drugs had aged him. His thin but baggy clothing made him look positively skeletal. The marks down his arms indicated sustained drugs usage. Dark marks revealing newer use and shiny slightly paler scars showing he had been abusing his body long before he showed up in the morgue.

And then he sneezed.

Instinctively, Molly kicked out as she threw herself back.

After some yelling and arguing, she realized the man was high and barely functioning. Molly put him in a chair, gave him some water, and wrapped him in a sheet. When he was a bit more lucid she tried to take his vitals only to get a verbal thrashing about some very personal matters that he couldn't possibly have known. Molly then returned said thrashing about how it was a very poor prank to show someone in his condition to my morgue. Whether it was to get a rise out of her or because they assumed he didn't count enough for treatment didn't matter, it was unacceptable. Or perhaps someone from the homeless network had followed her on her Biscuit Adventures all the way to work?

Too upset to continue Molly left the morgue with the paperwork that she had come down for, intent on having security carry the man upstairs for treatment if necessary. It turned out that was not going to be necessary. The man was following Molly to the lab. She should probably have called security then, but Molly didn't want to discourage him if he was going to let her help him. They walked into the lab and she pulled out a chair for him to sit down. He had pulled the sheet around him like a toga. He had looked tall before, but now with the white sheet wrapped around the thin gray shirt and joggers he looked even taller. He also looked skinnier and that nearly did her in.

She went over to the corner of the table and discreetly ordered enough takeaway to feed three very hungry people. Molly was able to eat less than a serving, he was so fast and hungry, but she was glad to see that he ate. He didn't even appear to know that he was eating. Molly would just push food slightly closer to him as he went on about the science behind the reports she was reading through. When he left she was still unsure if someone had been pulling a very poor prank, perhaps on both of them. Molly could see that he was feeling much better and was probably going to sleep off the effects of the drugs and the food.

When Molly said to his vanishing form that she hoped he had somewhere safe to go, she swore she heard him say, "Maybe I do now." But she was so busy thinking about how she might have to change the route for her Biscuit Adventures that Molly wasn't so sure she had heard anything at all. This day had been so full of surprises.


	3. Chapter 3 - I Spy

The Story of Molly Hooper

Chapter Three

I Spy

Molly Hooper didn't expect to see the skeletal man again, but he came in the very next day. They finally got around to introductions. Apparently, his name was Sherlock Holmes and he's a consulting detective.

Right…

But he was just full of interesting facts and fascinated by science, so she had him hang around her while she went through her day. She ordered them some pizza this time, again enough for three people. It was early in the day again, but that didn't stop him from eating all but the one slice she was able to snatch up. Glad that he was eating, she also slyly pushed fluids on him hoping that he would detox a little more.

Molly observed him a little closer. She had made some sketches after he had visited the first time. They were of a gaunt man wrapped in a sheet burning from the inside out. She wanted to get more of the details right. She also wanted to help him not be a gaunt man anymore. She was fine with a single slice if it meant he was eating too.

He left before she went to lunch. Which was lucky because Molly didn't want to leave him unsupervised in the lab. She wasn't quite hungry, having had a second breakfast of pizza, so she sat in her office and did a little research on her new friend. She found his website, "The Science of Deduction." It was a bit dry, but the science was rather fun and she was fairly curious.

After work, she thought of maybe treating herself to a takeaway. She hadn't really felt like cooking. What she did feel like doing was perusing "The Science of Deduction" and trying to understand her new friend's chaotic mind. As Molly was putting on her fluffy red mittens and warming her face in the matching scarf, a black car pulled up in front of her. She rolled her eyes and started to move around it. Molly wasn't quite certain how but she was very neatly corralled until her only option was to enter the car. It seemed it was very easy to be kidnapped, even in London.

As Molly Hooper sat in the back of the car waiting to find out who had kidnapped her and why, she ran over all the facts that she currently had at hand. She had not been beaten and restrained. In fact, she had been rather politely kidnapped by all accounts. Which meant that whoever it was that had orchestrated her capture from directly in front of her workplace had a great deal of power and wanted something from Molly that they assumed they could get just by asking. Unless they thought that the display of kidnapping her would leave her in such quaking fear she would tell them anything. People always assumed her shy, awkward nature was because of fear. It was really because she wasn't good at socializing. Not that she was afraid of it or anything else. It made Molly rather sad that she could never figure out how that worked.

When the car stopped, someone came and opened her door. She got out and looked around the abandoned warehouse. There was a tall, well dressed man with an umbrella standing in the open. She walked up shyly, a bit skittish, coming into the open and approaching the man who seemed to have organized all of this drama. He greeted Molly like they were old friends, like he knew everything about her but was being polite about it. While he talked at her, and about her really, she took in the whole of him. The things he said were true, some of them too intimate or embarrassing to hear out loud. It reminded her of Sherlock and his deductions. She saw it then, the little things that are so similar between them. She was so certain that she dared to interrupt him.

"Who are you?"

He continued to exude power and attempted to frighten Molly even further, flipping through a little notebook like it contained her entire life. But now that she had him figured she didn't even bother to listen. All this power and he couldn't keep Sherlock from giving into the siren call. He could take her off the street in front of the hospital, but that didn't mean he could control Sherlock.

She was already of the opinion that Sherlock couldn't control Sherlock.

Who was he to Sherlock then? It would be a bit of a gap if they were siblings. Not enough of a gap for him to be Sherlock's uncle. Cousins, perhaps? Whichever it was, they were definitely blood relatives. And this man in his finely tailored suit worth millions of pounds who politely kidnapped people couldn't do or get whatever it was that Molly Hooper could. That knowledge made her feel rather ridiculously brave. Brave is by far the kindest word for stupid, though, isn't it?

"Enough, what do you want from me?"

"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't really have a connection to him. I met him yesterday. He was passed out in the morgue."

"And yet since then you have spent an inordinate amount of time with him," he said while leaning a little more on his umbrella. "Your relationship with him seems to be coming along quite quickly."

She gave him a look of puzzled confusion. "What does it matter?"

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

Arching an eyebrow, she answered the impertinent question of the man who thought he could ask and say anything, "Who I choose to be friendly with is really none of your business."

"It could be," he said with practiced smile. "If you do decide to continue this association with Sherlock Holmes I would be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"What do you want?"

"Information. Nothing that would be considered indiscreet. Nothing that you would feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he is up to. I would like to know what he is involved with at regular intervals."

It was obvious that this man who thought he had all the power and all of the answers believed that there were only two possible outcomes. Either she would say yes or she would say no. Instead Molly Hooper found a third option.

"You're very worried about him."

"Yes, I worry about him constantly."

"I will do it, but I won't be giving you something for nothing. If you want information about Sherlock, I would want something in return."

"Of course, I can arrange for a significant amount of -"

She cut him off. "I would never touch any money you gave me for myself. I will use it for Sherlock, but that money would never be something for me." The look of surprise on his face changed his every feature and his posture. Molly saw it in him now, what he had so cleverly disguised, that bright burning light. Just like Sherlock, but different. There was a sweetness to his light that made her want to bring out that surprised face over and over. "In exchange for information on Sherlock I want you to answer one question completely and honestly. You don't have to answer, but you will not get the information you want about Sherlock if you don't."

He hesitated and Molly was certain that this man had never needed to recover from surprise before. When he did agree she said, "Let's start with an easy one then. What is your biological relationship to Sherlock Holmes?"

His answer was not really surprising, "I am his older brother, Mycroft Holmes."

She told him that his brother ate enough for two people and talked her ear off about a million different things. She gave him instructions to put the money in a separate account so that she could have easy access with a card.

Molly went toward the car and asked for a lift home. She didn't say her address. She understood. He thought he already knew everything about her.

Boy won't he be surprised?


	4. Chapter 4 - Drawing Conclusions

The Story of Molly Hooper

Chapter Four

Drawing Conclusions

She drew him for days. His face, his clothes, his umbrella. She drew him in pieces and then she drew him as a whole. Over and over again, she became obsessed with drawing him. Trying to find a way to draw the surprised reaction that he gave her, a look about him that she was sure no one had seen before. She couldn't get it quite right.

Over those days Molly began to set things up to care for his brother on a larger scale. She had taken the money for Sherlock and she was going to put it to good use. She greased palms and she spread her influence through the hospital and the homeless community.

Mycroft obviously cared for Sherlock and it was equally obvious that he wanted the money to go towards keeping Sherlock safe. He just thought that meant giving a salary to a spy. Instead, Molly used it to expand her homeless network. Which, admittedly, was like having her own network of spies. If Sherlock was going places that would tempt him she wanted to know. If he ate, or didn't, she wanted to know.

The money also went into buying foodstuffs for the consulting detective who firmly believed he could live off air and adrenaline. Sherlock often came by the lab and morgue at St. Bart's now that he knew it was a safe place. Molly began making extras for her Biscuit Adventures that could sit in her office for him. But sometimes she would just pack extra sandwiches or make him his own food to be kept at the hospital. Getting Sherlock to eat was very important to her.

His constant visits gave her many opportunities to understand him better and draw out information about his well being for his brother. Molly didn't suddenly become a stellar conversationalist, however, and since Sherlock wasn't much better at being social there were bound to be miscommunications.

The earliest and most humorous of these miscommunications happened because Molly had tried to engage him in discussions about his feelings or personal life. She really was quite shy and awkward. The understanding that more intimate information from him meant having a nice chat with his brother made that even worse. Thus, Sherlock drew the conclusion from one of their earliest conversations that she must be infatuated with him.

He told Molly that she had all the classic signs. She blushed and stammered. She tried to get intimate details about him. She was nice to him. She let him have whatever he wanted. She was female.

Molly was so stunned at the ridiculousness of the deduction that her silence only put the final nail in the coffin. When Molly gathered herself back together she realized with a small epiphany that this could work for her. If he thought she was infatuated with him, he would never realize how hard Molly had already fallen for his brother. Or that she was his spy. So she encouraged the idea and he was only too happy to boast about how the woman from the morgue was totally devoted to him. But really, wherever did he get these ideas about the "classic signs?"

She established a protocol to let Mycroft know she wanted to speak to him every week in the very beginning. Molly told him that there was so much happening in Sherlock's life in such a short period of time that it would be best to give him weekly updates until things slowed down. Each time that she saw Mycroft she asked a question about him, even if on the surface it did not appear to be connected to him at all. Molly never wanted to know about his work, she knew he worried about that. But she wasn't interested in state secrets, she was interested in Mycroft Holmes. And she rather stubbornly wanted him to be surprised by her questions.

She asked him ice breaker type questions at first.

"What is a food item that you have eaten, but would never want to eat again?"

"Guacamole. It was horrifying. An embassy affair and it was a part of the meal. Why one would do that, let alone eat it, still escapes me to this day."

"What is your favorite smell?" She wanted to ask why, but that would be two questions. Besides, if he held to the deal he would give her complete answers. A complete answer would answer the why question.

The little raise of his eyebrows and flaring of his nostrils indicated that he had, yet again, not anticipated the type of question that Molly might ask. A little thrill shot through her when he answered.

"Rosewater. Mummy would put a few drops on the Iets and then hang them on the line to dry. It reminds me of home… and summer. Simpler times."

After several weeks of smaller questions Molly proceeded to ask the one that she had hoped would lead to longer and more in depth conversation. Real conversation with a man that she was rapidly becoming more obsessed with every day.

"Tell me about dancing."

There it was - that surprised look that she could draw out of him with a question. Molly lived for the thrill of that surprise face. A man who's very clothing was almost literally armor, who's everyday face was so guarded that even his own brother couldn't tell how much he loved him, suddenly vulnerable to this seemingly pleasant surprise. The question that wasn't really a question worked. He explained all different types of dance to her. The music that accompanied them. Dances that he had witnessed or participated in. The artistry of dancing. The history of dance. They spent over an hour in his office discussing dance.

After each of these visits she drew him, attempting to get more and more of the details correct. Sometimes she focused just on his eyes. She would make dozens of close ups, each an attempt to create different emotions within the drawings. Other times Molly would concentrate on his hands. Long narrow fingers that seem to curl around anything in reach while he spoke. Almost as though they were seeking out the comfort of his umbrella, or perhaps something with more firepower. At times she would make cartoons of him, little comic strips of nothing in particular, just to see what would happen in each panel.

After nearly two months Molly told him that she would need the files of every case that Sherlock had ever solved that had people connected to it currently living in London. When he asked her why, she told him that it was because Sherlock had helped a lot of people. In those files somewhere would be someone that Molly would need. He waved her over to his personal assistant.

Molly had, of course, interacted with his assistant before. They had acknowledged each other as they went about their own business. There had never been a need to actually communicate with each other, however, and it was because of this request that they became friendly. She learned that she was not forgetting the woman's name, which was a huge relief. Molly had been so confused as to why she couldn't keep it straight. Instead Mycroft's assistant enjoyed going through the alphabet and changing her name on a whim. That day it was Valerina, maybe it would be Yasmina in a couple of months or just a couple of weeks. It just depended on how she felt.

They went through the case files carefully during those next few months. Molly was looking for people that would be willing to help Sherlock back. There were a few, but they had their own issues and shouldn't take on additional burdens. But then there was this interesting case.

An English woman who had come back from living abroad in the States for some years. Lived alone, was looking for renters. Apparently, her husband was a piece of work. Sherlock had ensured that he was convicted and received the death penalty in Florida. Molly went to meet with her and encouraged her to give Sherlock a safe space to live. The safer his living quarters, the more likely he would be to stay on the straight and narrow. With a sly hand, some of Mycroft's money made its way to Mrs. Hudson to ensure that she would offer Sherlock a good price on the flat, but would only rent to him if he found a flatmate.

The flatmate part was important. If someone was living with Sherlock, between the flatmate and the landlady, then it would draw Sherlock out of his isolation. Having to find a flatmate meant needing to look for someone that could tolerate what he thought his own idiosyncrasies were. This quest Mrs. Hudson sent him on demanded that he be out in the world trying to meet people who might like or just accept him. Molly thought that if Sherlock did find a person like that, then only good things would come of it for him. If he didn't find someone, then at least they could keep him looking, and out in the world, while he lived in a safe space.

She was in the lab talking to Mike Stamford when Sherlock burst in and decided to be the conversation. A client he had helped had just reached out to him. She had property in central London and was going to let him stay for an incredibly reduced fee because he had been so magnificent in solving her case. He was moving in immediately.

Molly wasn't quite sure what Sherlock wanted her to do with that information so she smiled and stammered something. Mike, meanwhile, told Sherlock that it was a lucky thing to know someone like that. But then she realized that he was boasting. Just like when he went around telling people how the morgue woman fancied him. It was rather sweet that he was so proud about it.

The smile that graced her for a few moments at the sweetness of this faded when she realized the other reason. Of course, why do you tell people you are moving? In order to ask them to help you do it. What was she going to say to that?

"I expect you at my current address this Friday, Molly."

"Oh, well, actually, I have plans." Which was a lucky thing, since she definitely wouldn't have been able to lie that fast under any pressure. Meena and Molly were going to get together with the new girl Claire to have a couple pints at the local. She didn't usually go to the Fox, a pub just down from the hospital, but Molly wanted to get to know this new woman and have a nice night with her friend.

"Oh, please. You won't like this new woman and you see your other friends all the time. I'll see you directly after your shift on Friday. I'll want to move in one go if possible."

As he turned to leave she called after him, "Have you hired movers and a truck then?"

At the door, looking slightly startled, "What need do I have of movers? I have you."

Then he spun and left an air of drama that was so thick that Mike was barely containing giggles. His face was red and his breathing was a bit gaspy. "Sounds like a lovely Friday night for you then. Is it a first date?"

Molly scowled at him until he left the lab claiming there were bright young things for him to teach elsewhere.

Drawing her own conclusions from Sherlock's response, Molly realized she would need to use some of Mycroft's money to hire a van and perhaps some of her homeless network to help move Sherlock into Baker Street. It was alright to miss one night out. Moving Sherlock into his new flat was important. Molly wanted, after all, to start detailing Mycroft's clothes a little better in her drawings and this would certainly give her more information on Sherlock so she could do just that.

Intent on helping Sherlock she reached out to a few people and got things set up. Then she sent a text off to Meena to let her know that she was not making it to our girls night. Molly thought that she was fairly prepared, but she hadn't expected the weather to turn so humid.

On a Friday evening in late June, Dr. Molly Hooper nearly forgot that she should be hydrating while carrying boxes up several flights of stairs. Luckily, Mrs. Hudson was at hand with a cool drink for her and the homeless helpers that she had brought with her. The others trailed back downstairs to start their task again after finishing their limeade.

Molly noticed that Sherlock was laid out in a chair that must have been magic. Surely, he couldn't actually fit his whole long body curled up like a cat into such a small seat. For lack of something to say, Molly made a polite comment to Mrs. Hudson about the kitchen in Sherlock's new flat. Sherlock huffed behind her back, still curled in his chair.

"You should be careful Mrs. Hudson. Molly is likely to fatten you up. She's an extraordinary baker."

He had said it with such a tone of defeated annoyance that the words could easily have been mistaken for something else. But she had been around both of the Holmes boys long enough to know better. She was in a panicked shock at Sherlock's statement. Molly's thoughts flashed across her mind like lightning, scattering her emotions in rolls of thunder.

Don't turn around, she thought. Don't give into the temptation to turn around and stare at him.

Molly managed to force herself to breathe more evenly, to not look at him, and to continue on as if nothing astonishing had happened. As though Sherlock Holmes had not just verbalized that he understood she had been feeding him and taking care of him. As though he had not just given her a wonderful compliment about her skill as a baker.

If he is cognizant of her caring for him, how much else might he have figured out?

She continued to force herself not to turn towards him as her shock would have been obvious. He would only think Molly embarrassed by the comment if she stayed facing away from him. Molly's panic at not getting caught intermingling with her panic at Sherlock's growth made it difficult to think of the best course of action except that she mustn't turn to face him.

After a few beats passed, Molly smiled a small smile and told Mrs. Hudson that it was true. She had gotten Sherlock to eat and he was at a much healthier weight than when she had first met him towards the beginning of the year. She had thought he was little more than a skeleton then and had actually presumed he was dead.

Molly leaned toward Mrs. Hudson, "Of course," she laughed, "he was asleep in the morgue." With a little shrug and a more genuine smile she set down her glass and forced herself to go downstairs at a normal pace.

Once outside Molly drew a deep shaky breath. She scrubbed at her face trying to regain some composure. But when that didn't work Molly sharpley tapped her fingers against her face, desperate for some focus.

He will want to know, was her next thought.

Molly decided to text his PA directly.

"It isn't life threatening or bad. I know that I had a scheduled one with him later. If he isn't terribly busy, could I see him late tonight? He will want to hear this sooner rather than later."

"How late?" his PA sent back.

"As late as necessary," she replied. A few moments later Molly received a text stating a car would be sent for her around ten that evening.

As Molly was letting all of this wash over her, someone called out to her.

"Alright there, Molly?" Detective Inspector Lestrade asked, having taken in her tremors and flush.

"I'm fine," Molly managed to stammer. "Sherlock just said…" she trailed off not wanting to reveal what he had actually said. But it was alright. Greg had known Sherlock even longer than he'd known Molly. Sherlock had been in and out of trouble and solving crimes with the DI for about four years already. He figured Sherlock didn't say anything nice and moved on.

They each took a box from the load and carried them up the stairs. She thought that Sherlock would introduce Lestrade to Mrs. Hudson, but when he didn't Molly awkwardly stuttered her way through. Mrs. Hudson offered him some homemade limeade and they discussed how they first met Sherlock. They spoke to each other so easily, so naturally, that Molly was a little sad she was unable to do that.

She jumped as Sherlock leapt out of his armchair and shouted that it is the most perfect idea he has ever had. Can't believe he didn't think of it sooner.

"Think of what sooner?" Lestrade interjected on the tirade.

"How many times faster would I have been able to solve one of your supposedly unsolvable cases if I had large swaths of London covered by people sending me reports? If I was looking for a certain type of plant or warehouse that would have a certain chemical composition linked to it?"

"Oh, dear, what are you going on about?" Mrs. Hudson asked as her hands were fluttering to her face.

"A network. Spies in London. The homeless of London are much more amenable when it comes to taking bribes than officers of the law."

"Thank you," Lestrade deadpanned.

"I would just need to make sure that the network understood that there would be a reward for helping me solve those cases that cover such a significant area."

In the kitchen, Molly had stiffened at the beginning of his high speed speech. She was worried that he had realized that the homeless people she fed and helped were spying on him. Instead it seemed he had come upon the same idea.

But what to do? If he was going to be using a vast network of people to solve crimes, could I use those same people to tell me about him and the cases? It might work.

As Molly left Baker Street she mentioned that she was going to stop at the store to gather baking provisions. Sherlock remarked that it was a bit early to start baking for her Biscuit Adventures.

"I find baking to be a soothing activity Sherlock. I like to do it. And I like giving the final product to others. Why do you care?"

"Because that, dear Molly, is how we first met. You never did ask how I wound up in your morgue. I was determined to solve the mystery of the cakes lady. And I found you."

A small smile threatened to overwhelm her face as Molly went on her way. She was quite pleasantly surprised. It almost seemed as though she had counted.


End file.
